


Almost Dawn

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-24
Updated: 2002-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-01 10:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/355892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martha's been waiting up all night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost Dawn

## Almost Dawn

by Justine

[]()

* * *

Almost Dawn   
by Justine 

It's four-thirty in the morning, and she hasn't slept. 

Martha Kent is sitting at the kitchen table with her fifth cup of coffee and a pile of magazines. Occasionally, she's dozed off -- in between arguments for and against community-supported agriculture, or comparisons of facial cleansers. 

She manages to stay awake for the Reader's Digest articles on the psychology of the adopted child. Apparently, rebellion is common, an outgrowth of perfectly normal feelings of alienation. 

She laughs, but silently; Jonathan will be awake in half an hour. 

Alienation. 

They don't even know what the word _means_. 

She's starting to doze again when the door opens, slowly, and Clark gracefully slips in through the door. He stops immediately; she's got the light on, and he can't possibly miss her. 

"You stayed up?" he asks, incredulous. "Mom, it's four-thirty." 

"It's four-thirty-nine," she corrects him. "Which puts you just a little over your curfew." 

"You shouldn't have stayed up." 

"You're right," she said, worry and the fifth cup of coffee edging into her voice. "I shouldn't have to stay up. I should be able to trust that you'll be home when you say you will." 

"I'm sorry," he says, and he is. "I got distracted," he adds, looking as though he's fully aware of how pathetic it sounds. 

"For six hours? Come on, Clark. You know how to use a telephone." She's never sure where he's been or what he's doing, these days. He doesn't bruise; drugs probably wouldn't affect him; he doesn't seem to want to drink, but she can't be sure -- she's read a thousand articles and websites, and they say you can never really tell. 

She knows where he's been. 

She asks anyway. "Where were you?" She wonders if he'll lie to her. If he can do it with a straight face. 

"I was at school," he said, looking her right in the eye. "Chloe and I had a deadline." Bravo, Clark. We've taught you to lie to everyone else in the world, and now you can do it to your own mother. 

"That's funny," Martha says. "She called at about nine-thirty looking for help with her algebra homework." 

Clark opens his mouth and closes it. 

"Before you start," she continues, "Pete came by looking for you around eight, and when I talked to Nell after the news, she and Lana were sitting down with some old Audrey Hepburn movies." She shakes her head. "If you're going to lie to me, Clark, at least get a reliable alibi." 

"Maybe I like Audrey Hepburn," he says, digging his toe into the edge of the counter. She hopes, absently, that he doesn't actually mean to damage the furniture. 

"Nice try." She comes around the counter and holds him close. He's gotten so tall. They don't even know if he'll just keep growing. What if the average height for his people is eight feet? What if he's still just a puppy at six foot three? "I'm just glad you're safe." 

"Does Dad know?" 

"Your father has to drive to Metropolis this morning. I told him I'd wake him if it got too late." 

"How much longer were you going to wait?" 

"He'll be up anyway in twenty minutes," she says, looking at the clock. "You want to talk about it?" 

"I didn't answer you before," he says, and that's her Clark, her honest angel. "I was at Lex's," he says, daring her to get upset. He's ready for a fight. 

He won't get one. She's not going to make an issue out of this. 

"I know," she says. "Anywhere else, you would have just called." Or if something _else_ had happened to keep Clark out, the whole town would be awake. 

He smiles at the floor, granting her the point. "True." 

"You know your father doesn't approve of Lex. We don't know that much about him. And if he's got you lying, and sneaking around ... that bothers me worse than anything, Clark. That you'd lie to me on purpose." 

"I'm sorry," he says, but he isn't. Not really. 

"You should be," she says. "You have responsibilities, Clark. You need to choose your friends more carefully." She's parroting Jonathan. Damn it. "The Luthors..." 

"You know," he says, and it's the first thing he's said that isn't a whisper, "if we're all like our birth parents, then I'm some kind of freaky alien that throws its babies out in a meteor shower." He looks away from her. "Maybe I am." 

"It's how he's been raised --" she starts, not taking the bait. 

"You know how he's been raised?" his voice cracks, and she remembers this child-giant is only fifteen. (Jonathan thinks. Martha's pretty sure he could be older. But he's still not grown.) "His mom is dead. And his father hates him. Hates him, Mom. I'm not exaggerating. They hate each other like -- like enemies." 

"He's sly and manipulative, Clark, and he's using you." 

"He likes me," Clark said. "He doesn't have anybody else," Clark says. "I'm the only person who cares about him." I can save him, she hears him say, and she knows it's probably true. 

"Clark." He's predatory, she wants to tell him. She doesn't know if she can say it to a child: _he's after your body._ "He's not ... it's inappropriate for you to be over there alone," she says finally. 

"God, Mom, I'm not a baby," he says, checking over her shoulder. Jonathan will be up any minute, and if he sees them both awake at this hour.... "I know what he wants." 

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. "You do," she says, carefully not making it a question. She's drawing breath to argue with him, to throw words like _statutory rape_ and _sodomy_ at him, and it just seems so incongruous that she even has to say words like that to Clark, her good boy, her baby who's never been a bit of trouble in his short, strange life -- "You know what he wants." It's the most surreal hour of her life. Pulling an alien toddler from a cornfield has nothing on this man-child calmly telling her he's ... well, what, exactly? 

"I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to be any weirder than I already am." 

"I'm glad you feel like you can tell me," she says, because that's what she's supposed to say, because she's a good mother and that's the right thing to say. She finds the next question, asks it: "Are you -- are you involved with him?" 

He shakes his head, then catches her eye and shrugs, nods. "It's not serious or anything," he says. "Guys mess around. Experiment. I read about it." He's as embarrassed as she is; she's seen him in a million shades of crimson, but this must be as excruciating for him as it is for her. "It's normal." 

Perfectly normal. Oh, yes. Always that. "It's normal at fifteen. At twenty-one it's pretty much _not_ , Clark, and he shouldn't be anywhere near you." 

Clark nods, and looks away, and seems interested in the kitchen blinds. And Jonathan is getting up in the bedroom; she can hear the shower starting. 

"I think ... I think I might be gay," Clark says finally, which just adds weight to the lump in her stomach. She nods, trying to take it in, trying not to have a bad reaction because that will only lead to more rebellion and things are bad enough. 

"What about Lana?" she manages. "I thought you liked her." 

"I wish I liked her better," he admits. "Lana, or Chloe ... I know it'd be easier. I tried, Mom. I tried, okay?" 

And then she just feels guilty, like they don't ask enough of Clark already, that they've trained him so well to squash every difference, to swallow every impulse, that he didn't even try to figure himself out until Lex Luthor came to town. Lex Luthor with his swagger and his arrogance and the pretty, flirty way he looks at everyone and everything that moves. 

She wants Luthor dead, and she wants the earth to swallow her whole. 

She and Jonathan have led him to this. And Lex Luthor saw it and exploited it and has turned her baby into a sneak thief and a liar, and maybe it's just puberty or alienation or experimentation -- and maybe she has no idea what the _hell_ they're doing trying to raise a space alien. 

Good God, she tells herself. He's your child. 

"You're a good boy, Clark," she says finally. "If you're -- if you're confused --" 

"Jesus!" he says, and it's a curse, in the voice of a man; he's scaring her. "Jesus Christ, Mom, when am I _not_ confused?" 

The shower stops. "I love you," she says. "I'm upset and I'm angry and I haven't had any sleep and if you ever lie to me again, I swear to God, Clark --" 

"You'll what?" he says, daring her, and she doesn't know him. This is not the child who spilled Spaghetti-os on her carpet and picked up all his toys when he was told and learned to speak English in half a year. 

"I'll tell your father," she threatens. "You want an experiment? I'll give you one." 

Clark at least recognizes this as a threat. "I'm not going to stop seeing Lex," he says finally, challenging her. 

"Like we could stop you?!" Her voice catches on a strange laugh. "You know perfectly well you can do whatever you want, Clark. Nobody can make you do anything you don't want to do." 

She must have let the bitterness out, because he's anxious to placate her. "Mom --" 

"Clark," she says, cutting him off. "We're not done here." When he blinks in acknowledgement, she tells him, "Get upstairs. Fast as you can." 

He obeys immediately, which is something of a relief. She scrubs at her face and starts rinsing out the coffeepot. It's a normal morning when Jonathan comes in, whistling, freshly showered. "You're up already?" he asks. 

"It's going to be a beautiful day," she tells him. "Look at the sunrise." And while he's admiring it, she rests her head on his shoulder, wondering what she'll tell Jonathan when he starts to guess. Whether she'll be a better liar than her son, or if she'll be brave enough to risk the truth. 


End file.
